“I’ve never antagonized anyone.”

“If you only knew.” He shook his head again.

“This is so unfair.”

“Yes, it is.” Derek extended his hand to me. “I’m afraid I’m going to have to vouch for her innocence, Angus.”

I grabbed hold of his hand and he pulled me up from the chair. Once I was on my feet, I whacked his arm. “You’re afraid?”

“It’s just a manner of speech. Do you want to come with me or not?”

“I do.” I looked at MacLeod. “Am I free to go?”

“No, you’re not.”

“I didn’t think so,” I said, forlorn.

Derek raised an eyebrow. “What’s the holdup?”

“I’ve told you, her room must be searched.”

“Tonight? Is that necessary?”

“Of course it’s necessary,” MacLeod said, exasperated. “You know very well I can’t let her go back to her room and possibly destroy evidence.”

“I don’t have any evidence to destroy,” I said.

“She didn’t do it, Angus,” Derek said.

MacLeod was unwavering. “I follow the evidence.”

“It won’t do you any good in her case,” Derek said in mock resignation. “She’s just not capable of killing anyone. It’s too bad, because she’s rather a chary sort, don’t you think?”

I elbowed him. “Shush.”

“Hey.” He grabbed his side. “I’m just trying to help.”

“You’re making it worse,” I whispered.

“Me?”

“Just let the man do his job.”

Angus eyed us both warily. “Have you thought to take this show on the road?”

“I tell you what, Angus,” Derek said companionably. “We’ll wait in the hotel bar while your men do their searching. If you find something incriminating, she’s all yours. In fact, I’ll help you lock her up.”

“Help me, will you?” MacLeod said. “You’re a fine friend, Derek, but you’re a pain in my rear nonetheless.”

“You’re welcome,” Derek said.

As MacLeod opened the door to the hallway, he sighed. “I’m truly not getting rid of you, am I?”

“You know me better than that,” Derek said, his amiable grin belying his resolve.

“Come along, then, both of you.”

I hustled my butt out the door to freedom.

My hotel room was absent any bloodstained rags or additional bloody weapons or whatever smoking gun MacLeod had hoped to find. He’d called me in the bar where Derek had been sipping Scotch while I’d nursed a cup of tea, trying to stay awake. Derek and I arrived in time to see a rubber-gloved investigator carefully lifting my heavy cloth tool carrier from my open suitcase.

I immediately wondered if they’d gone through my underwear. I couldn’t help worrying. Maybe it was a girl thing, but those rubber gloves gave me the heebie-jeebies.

Derek and I squeezed our way farther into the room where Detective Inspector MacLeod, two crime scene guys and the police photographer were working. The first thing I was asked to do was sit down at the desk in the corner and submit to fingerprinting by one of the technicians.

“You may find black residue on some of the surfaces of your furniture,” MacLeod explained after I’d washed my hands. “We tried to wipe it off but we might’ve missed some spots.”

“That’s okay,” I said, knowing that as soon as they left, I’d get out my travel wipes and scrub down everything.

I didn’t know what to do with five men cramped inside my little hotel room. It was like a party, only not much fun.

“We assumed this was the bag that holds your tools, Ms. Wainwright,” MacLeod said, waving a hand at the investigator who was holding the navy blue cloth bag.

“Yes.” Whenever I traveled, I wrapped everything up in the bag I’d made myself out of sailcloth and white grosgrain ribbon. Each tool had its own snug pocket, and the whole thing folded up and tied and fit inside my suitcase.

The investigator placed the tool bag on the queen-size bed.

“Someone has fiddled with it,” I said. “The ribbon is tied in a knot and I always tie it in a bow.”

“Open it up, Richie,” MacLeod said.

Richie carefully spread the cloth out on the green brocade bedspread. Fully opened, the tool bag was two feet long by one foot wide.

“Crap,” I muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Derek said.

“Three tools are missing,” I said, poking my fingers in the empty pockets.

“That’s unfortunate,” Derek murmured, glancing at MacLeod.

“Yes, isn’t it?” MacLeod said. “Can you tell which ones are missing?”

“I can’t remember what was in this pocket. One of my knives, I think. Or maybe the polishing iron I brought. No, that’s still here.”

He reached out and stopped me from pulling the polishing iron out of its compartment.

“Don’t touch anything, please,” he said. “We’ll need to dust the remaining tools for fingerprints.”

“Sorry.” I grimaced at the thought that I might’ve destroyed evidence and backed away from the bed. The photographer moved in and snapped a bunch of pictures, then stepped out of the way so that rubber-gloved Richie could move in and fold up the tools. He put them inside another large envelope, then left the room with the photographer and my tools.

“We’ll get everything back to you presently,” MacLeod said.

“I have a workshop in two days,” I said. “Do you think I could have them back by then?”

“It shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Thank you.”

He nodded, then dug in his pocket for a business card and handed it to me. “I’ll be around to see you tomorrow, but please call me in the meantime if you think of anything else to tell me.”

I slipped the card in my purse. “I can tell you right now that Kyle received a phone call on his cell while we were at the pub. He told the caller he would meet them in five minutes and he took off. And no, he didn’t tell me who the caller was.”

MacLeod made a note in his pad. “We’ll follow up on that. Thank you.” He nodded at Derek. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Of course.”

I had a sneaking feeling whom the subject of their conversation would be. Lucky me.

MacLeod reached the door, then turned and pierced me with a look. “I must warn you not to leave the city without informing me.”

I licked my very dry lips. “I won’t.”

“G’night, then,” he said, and took off.

“That was pleasant,” Derek said, tugging on his jacket. “How about a nightcap?”

I should’ve said no, but how could I pass up such a charming offer? Besides, I knew that despite the jet lag, I wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. “Maybe just one.”

We went downstairs to the pub and found it packed with book people commiserating over Kyle’s murder. At one table, two women talked quietly while dabbing their eyes with tissues. Over at the bar, several groups were toasting his memory.

I scouted out a small table at the far side of the room while Derek went to the bar. He came back with two healthy shots of Scotch and a small pitcher of water.

He held up his glass and I clinked mine against it. I took a sip and let the heat trickle down my throat, warming my insides all the way to my stomach.

“Better?” he asked.

“Not yet,” I said, and took another sip, and felt the warmth slide down my throat. I put my glass down on the table and sat back. “Getting there.”

Derek poured several drops of water into my glass. I took another sip and savored the subtle change in flavor.

“Even better,” I admitted. “Thanks.”

“Good.” He sat back in his chair and studied me as he sipped his Scotch.

“Oh, crap,” I said, smacking my hand on the table and squeezing my eyes shut.

“Now what?”

I shook my head in disbelief. “I completely forgot to tell him about Perry.”

“Perry?”

I glanced around the room, then related an abbreviated version of the Robert Burns story. I told him that Kyle had shown the book to three people. The only one I knew for sure was Perry.

“This man Perry is a prime suspect,” he said. “How could you forget to mention it?”

I rubbed my forehead. “I started to but we were interrupted. Then I dropped the ball. Maybe the sight of that bloody hammer caused my brain to empty.”